4.6 | Dark Ages ✓

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SHE IS THERE when he wakes up.

The scent of roses is fresh in the air. He inhales, deeply, then looks around. The room is no longer the same as he'd left it. Where before it had been covered in days' old dust, pale sunlight flits through the curtains now. Acting on instinct, he feels under the pillow for his gun, then relaxes when he finds it there. He begins to turn on his side, but something catches his eye.

There, on the windowsill, is a single rose plant.

It's sheer beauty in its luminance, white like snow, with buds not yet in full bloom. The singular rose is turned towards the sun, as though basking under the latter's attention. That this fragile plant blooms in a town where there is no life is an irony not lost on him.

A thought surfaces at the back of his mind, but it's quickly drowned out when he notices the photo-frame next to the pot. He pushes himself up to get a closer look. Set against the same ledge that the frame is placed on, a couple poses for the camera. One of them is her.

The other one is him.

He draws in a sharp breath. He's known for awhile now that the other man she'd been with in the past had been him all along. But to have it here in his hands as proof is something else. He—this other him—has an arm wrapped possessively around her waist, looking at her with plain affection in his eyes, even though his expression remains neutral. She, on the other hand, smiles brightly for the camera as though everything is right with this world.

And maybe it is, because she has him.

He's so caught up in looking at the photograph that it takes awhile for him to register the sounds in the background. Gradually, he does, and he sets the frame down. A low humming in dulcet tones, a pan clanking against the stove, a patter of footsteps in the distance.

She must be here.

His heart begins to pound in his chest. He wants so desperately for this not to be a dream. Tugging aside the blanket, he climbs out of bed and blindly shoves his way out of the room. His bare feet pads against the floor tiles until he reaches the kitchen.

Then he stops.

There she is.

Standing by the stove, with her back to him, is the girl of his dreams. Her hair is up in a loose braid, leaving the graceful slope of her neck exposed under the sunlight that filters in. She's humming along, slightly off-key, to some song that sounds vaguely familiar, while scooping scrambled eggs from a pan onto two plates.

His breath catches in his throat. This is real, he thinks, barely able to take his eyes off her. He doesn't even dare to blink, or he might miss seeing her again. She is real and she is here. Everything has aligned. How long had he searched for her, through time and space? How long had he been dreaming of her, each dream ending with him waking up all alone?

All his searching, all his dreaming, all his needing—that all is done, because she is here.

He lets out a shuddering breath. His feet move of their own accord as he closes the spaces between them. In three quick strides, he is behind her. A muffled sound of surprise escapes her when he pulls her to him. His arms wind around her waist, he presses his chest to the planes of her back, and buries his face against the slope of her neck.

Her heartbeat thrums beneath his mouth and he closes his eyes in relief. For the first time since he'd woken up in the Dark Ages, he finds his lips twitching up in the closest thing to a smile.

"I've found you," he whispers. "I've finally found you."

She's startled for a second, standing still in front of him. But then, she seems to melt into him. With a kind of familiarity that makes his heart ache, she leans back into him until not a hairsbreadth separates them.

Slowly, one of her hands settle on his arm, her thumb brushing gentle strokes against his skin. She angles her head so that she can look up at him, then brings her other hand up to his face. The moment her palm touches his cheek, he leans into her touch, soaking up her warmth until he finally stops shaking.

"Yes, you have," she says softly, a hint of a smile in her voice. "I knew you'd find me."